"Come down the walk!" he exclaims, "I have something to tell you"; and he draws her gently toward him, taking the limp hand in his. As they go down in the light Floyd Grandon turns into the broad avenue, unseen by either. "Well, I have done it," Eugene begins. "If I am miserable for life it will be your fault." The treacherous wind carries back the last, and Floyd hears it distinctly in one of those electric moods that could translate a quiver in the air. They are too far away for her answer. "You will _not_ be miserable," she says, firmly. "No man could be miserable with Pauline Murray, if he did his duty and tried, _tried_ with his very soul to the uttermost. And you will, you will." Eugene Grandon has an insincere nature, while hers is like crystal. He is extremely fond of sympathy from women, and her urgent tone makes him seem a sort of hero to himself. If he must endeavor earnestly, there is something to be overcome, and that is his love for her. The pendulum vibrates back to it. "I shall try, of course," he says. Violet St. Vincent, with her fortune, is no light loss, but he does not distinguish between her and the fortune. "It was the best thing to do," he continues, "though I had half a mind to throw up everything and go away." She feels she should have admired and approved this course, but Pauline would have been wretched. She does not dream that in this early stage another lover would have comforted Pauline. She is so simple, so absolutely truthful, that her youthful discernment is quite at fault. "You must let yourself be happy," she says, and then she remembers how she has let herself be happy and the bitter awakening. But in this case there is nothing to break a confidence once established. "And what are you going to do?" he asks, suddenly. It is like a great wave and almost takes her off her feet. "You must not think of me, nor watch me, nor anything"; and an observant man would note the strain of agony in her voice. "It was very good in your brother to take care of me as he did. Mr. Sherburne said to-day that not one man in a hundred would have brought the matter to such a successful issue. And you know if everything had been lost, why, I should have been a burthen on him. Think of _us_ having nothing at all! What could you do?" He shrugs his shoulders in the dark, and he knows he should not want her or any other woman in poverty. "I shall have a pleasant life," she continues. "I can do a great deal for Cecil; and I can copy and translate, and Mr. Grandon is so fond of music. I know we shall be happy when this business no longer perplexes him and he has a little leisure. He is always so good and thoughtful. You couldn't expect him to love a little girl like me, fresh from a convent, with no especial beauty," she says, with heroic bravery. "And you will forget about me," the young man returns, with jealous selfishness.